stinking lizaveta: holy mountain: bloc: glasgow
ah the hair, the riffs, the melvins and jesus lizard songs playing over the p.a… have i traveled back timewards to my guitar drenched youth? not only was it free (free sweet jeebus free!) but bloc was transformed for a few hours into the best goddam bar in glasgow. not that it’s normally not pretty sweet (a headbusting double negative there).
stinking lizaveta. two hairy guys. one tattooed gal. one upright electric bass. one guitar. one small drum set. no vocals bar the occasionally whooo (and the hendrix cover). minimal. pared down to barebones, boiled down reduced, to the essence, the core of whatever. rhythm. melody. noise. what more do you need? fuck this jazz doom talk. fuck stupid pigeonholes. good music (good anything) transcends labels. everything else is just lazy. this? this was awesome. i make no apologies for using the word awesome. they were. transcendentally so.
complex yet utterly listenable. no interminable soloing yet plenty of apocalyptic fretwork. black sabbath by way of bitches brew. a heady stew of whammy and unexpected beats, odd time changes and howling into pickups. howling into pickups by christ!
played with passion and conviction. remember kids, these aren’t dirty words. six records in (did i really hear ‘hopelessness and shame’ ten years ago?) and they still surprise and entertain and challenge in equal measure. they still sound fresh and keen and willing and utterly in the thrall of what they do. i can ask of no more. my appreciation of your work, your travel and your effort, lady and gentlemen knows no bounds. cheers.
two quotes pretty much summing up what i love about them:
anybody practicing the fine art of composing music, no matter how cynical or greedy or scared, still can’t help serving all humanity. music makes practically everybody fonder of life than he or she would be without it. so said kurt vonnegut.
fifteen years ago i wanted to play drums in a band that was saying something i wanted to say. i wanted to tour here and abroad and make records. well, i’ve done all that with stinking lizaveta, so i guess i’m just going to keep doing it. so said cheshire agusta.
stinking lizaveta / stinkspace
and so, holy mountain. like if lightning bolt and dylan carsons’ earth of old and sleep and iron monkey (oh how i miss you…) made sweaty ugly brutish fuck and nine ungodly months later squatted out a two man band of hair and tattoos and drums and guitar andandand waveuponwave of satanic distortion. you fellas made a gorgeous bloody mess of my hearing within five minutes. thanks. from the bottom of my black little heart. the drummer played his drums atop a table. the guitarist wore a vest. between them they conjured up a noise so mad and pure that it invoked the gleeful insanity of the jodorowski film and all it’s shroom induced transcendent splendour. except consumed by tar and bad downers. suddenly i have a new favourite band.
they’re on here:
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26th march bloc
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10th april bloc
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12th may captains rest
go see. i cannot stress this e-fucking-nough.
and finally end of level boss. made noises occasionally like kyuss driving bulldozers. made noises occasionally like king crimson driving the scooby doo mystery machine. if this band were a decade they’d be the seventies. more hair. massive sideburns. an old school hard rock howling yowling vibe. can i get a fuck yeah? apparently you can sir. would seem more at home doing donnington (i found the schtick a tad grating) than bloc but the kentigern house massive were out in support. you can check them out on the excellent exile on mainstream.
